Poetry
February 22, 2022
Original work from Alix Sanchez
Short Distance
That trembling shift of a pinky finger as it seeks out the permission to first hold their hand
The ways your knees touch while seated side by side, first quick and questioning, then a longer melting press
The half step to you left that bumps your shoulders but you don't move away
The reach across a table
To offer a bite of food and the lingering exchange of a spoon
The plucking of a leaf from their hair as you walk in the chill and the way your visible breath mingles in the air
And that small last moment before lips touch for the first time, slow motion exchange of energy
Vibrating across a thin divide
Land Acknowledgement
I am tired of the white persons land acknowledgement
Don’t get me wrong, you should know whose land you’re standing on
Know the history of why that fishing village is now a Target and a Home Goods
as you glance meaningfully in the direction of the one or two indigenous people in the room
To show you’re hearing the words and are a very very good person
who listens to land acknowledgements
But I’m tired
More than that, filled up with grief and rage and sometimes hope
Give me more than the white persons land acknowledgement
I want a land acknowledgement for my body
So deeply and effectively colonized from birth that it took me
Thirty five years to realize i was trans
Because I thought you were just supposed to feel deeply uncomfortable in a fat body
Thought that if I could get my tits high enough I could figure out how to like them
Thought that if I could contour my face just right I could finally like the softness of its jaw
Thought that if I hunched my shoulders and stuffed my belly into shapewear and cast my gaze to the floor I could take up so little space maybe I could...what...disappear?
The highest calling of womanhood
I want a land acknowledgement for my weary skin
I want a land acknowledgement for the terrain of memory
Clearcut
Razed so perfectly that I can’t picture myself as a child,
Can only remember in flashes, in fits and starts
Can only smile and shrug when people try to reminisce
Stare at a blank page when asked to write about my life before I was grown
I want a land acknowledgement for what I can’t recall
I want a land acknowledgement for my tongue
That stumbles over the language that was dangerous for my grandparents to speak
That my mother never learned
That I learn in pieces staring at a screen, hundreds of miles from home
When I finally realized I was trans, I had to google the word for what I am
Because I knew my people had a word but I had no one to ask what to call myself
Aanini is the word
We always had it, even after they tried to take it away.
I wrote a land acknowledgment for myself:
“We acknowledge that the being before you is unceded indigenous territory
That their body is a motherland, seat of rebirth
a holder of memory beyond their own
Of story still unfolding
That their embodiment is not a privilege
But a sovereign right
That they belong only to the ancestors
And to themselves”